Biloxi
by LittleLadyhawke
Summary: A joe visits what was once his hometown


**Author's Notes**: Most of the usual disclaimers apply. All of the locations and landmarks named are real. They don't belong to me, but they are dear to me. I decided to write this as a way to vent. The path I took Roadblock down is one I traveled myself in the days following the storm. Everything he saw, I saw and still see when I close my eyes.

**For: Rhonda, Roosevelt, Bonita, Mike, and Becky. I will miss you JB**

**Biloxi**

Roadblock looked south across U.S. 90. The beach side was littered with debris from homes and casinos, with the occasional overturned car dotting the shore line. He looked east then west. Nothing remained but the empty shells that had once been magnificent hotels and antebellum homes. Homes that had stood for generations were now reduced to foundations and front stairs leading to nowhere. Where there were once immaculate sidewalks, and well kept lawns, there was four inches of thick smelly mud. No, the Mardi Gras parades would not roll down U.S. 90 this year.

Everything was quiet as if the world were holding its breath, afraid to make a sound for fear the storm would hear and return to finish the job she had started. He began to walk again, his footsteps beating a lonely cadence on the asphalt. He passed the monument that stood for the victims of hurricane Camille in '69. Some of the granite name plates had been swept away, and the reflecting pool had been muddied by Katrina's touch. A chill went through him. He had a feeling a new and bigger monument was going to be needed this time around.

He had set out earlier to see how much damage had been done to Santa Maria Del Mar, the assisted living community his mother lived in. Rather the community she _had _lived in. Of the eighteen stories in the building, only the top 15 were left. It looked as if a massive hand had come from the gulf, reached through the building, and pulled out the first three floors, leaving only steel beams to support the other floors. His mother had lived on the second. He knew his mother would be heartbroken, but at least she and some of her friends were safe on Keesler Air Force Base. Thank the lord for all favors.

He passed Mary Mahoney's Restaurant. His eyes misted up at the sight of the historical landmark in shambles. He had bused tables there, and he had learned a lot about cooking there. The owner's had always been nice to him, and had encouraged his dreams of one day becoming a chef. He hoped, more than anything, they would return and rebuild.

He hadn't realized how far he had come or even where he was going, until he saw a massive structure looming in front of him. It took him a while to figure out what exactly it was. When he realized what he was looking at, his blood ran cold. He was looking at the barge that had once been the casino portion of the Grand Casino and Resort. The storm surge had snatched this monolith from it moorings, lifted it across U.S. 90 flipped it around and dropped it on the Tivoli Hotel. The outside walls had been sheared clean off, and slot machines littered the immediate area around it. The only one to hit the jackpot here had been Katrina.

He remembered he had taken his mother and sisters to dinner and a show here the last time he had been home to visit. He hadn't imagined the next time he saw it, it would be an empty shell that looked as it had been a toy tossed about in a child's bath.

With ice in his veins, he decided he had seen enough of the beach, and decided to head to Point Cadet or "the point" as most people call it. It was a short walk from where he was and one he would never forget.

As he rounded the corner onto Howard Avenue, he was saddened by the sight of dozens of people milling in the streets. Some were crying, while others had looks of shock in their eyes. Most were sifting through the muck in hopes of finding some memento or keepsake of their former lives; lives that until the day before had been untouched.

He found himself walking down Short Street. He didn't actually do much walking as he spent most of his time climbing over fallen trees and overturned cars. This was his old neighborhood. He had grown up here, made friends here. Hell, he'd even had his first kiss here. Right over in that…tree. Like so much in this neighborhood, it too was gone. He walked a little farther down and he could see where the search and rescue workers had already begun the heartrending task of removing those who did not survive. He knew without a doubt, some of those bodies would be those of his friends, and he would be coming back in the near future to say a final goodbye.

As he began picking his way back to Howard Avenue, he could hear the muffled cries and sobs of men and women who had lost so much. This had been an act of terror. Even though it had been perpetrated by Mother Nature, it was an act of terror nonetheless.

As he walked, he passed a woman leaning limply on a fallen tree, she reached out and grabbed his arm, "I've lost everything!" she sobbed.

He held her awkwardly for a few minutes as she cried, until a young man came to relieve him of her. From the looks of the boy, he was probably her son. Before she turned to leave, Roadblock gently said to her, "You haven't lost everything. You still have your life."

The woman's eyes brightened as if that thought hadn't occurred to her. She gave him a faint smile and turned. What was to become of the woman and her son, Roadblock was sure he would never know but he hoped that in that one moment he had given her something, no matter how small, to hold on to.

He had seen enough. His hometown was in ruins, the people were shattered, and everything he had once known was no more. He wasn't sure how many people were going to be affected directly by this, but he knew no one with a heart would be untouched. The only thing he was sure of was that the people here had always been survivors and always would be. They would rebuild. They would mourn first, but they would begin again. There would be growing pains, but when all is said and done the people and the city would be the better for it. He began to hum the song "Biloxi". He'd learned it in the first grade, and now more than ever, it rang true. Biloxi would be back, and so would he.

Still humming, he turned and went back the way he'd come; his footsteps once more beating out their lonely cadence.


End file.
